


Lost on Memory Lane

by infinity500



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Anxiety, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Female Percy Jackson, Mild Language, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Character, Post Giant War, Post-Canon, Post-Iron Man 1, Tony Stark (mentioned) - Freeform, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, and people get hurt because of it, minor avengers crossover, percy is bi, tony fucks up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-04-17 14:30:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14191050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinity500/pseuds/infinity500
Summary: Where the gods are in danger again and the only one who could do something about it has been missing for millennia. And the closest link they have to finding her has just been kidnapped.Featuring: an anxiety ridden mess and her merry band of clueless friends





	1. Kidnapped

Cold.  

It's cold. Unbelievably so. Had Bijun forgotten to turn the heat on last night? The chill seeps up from under me. My arm feels numb. I want to curl into a ball, share whatever warmth I feel in my chest with the rest of me. 

Only I can't. I - I can't. I can't **move**! Out of the floating numbness, I feel my heart slam into my ribs and fear drips like hot acid into my lungs - breath stuttering. I have, **have to** try again. Like a knife cutting through the panic, I think to move my fingers. Rubbery and slow, they - thank the Heavens! - move.  

Vaguely feeling the impression of curling into a fist, my hand brushes against something hard and rough, like plaster or cement.  

That. That can't be right.  

 _'No kidding Sherlock. Nothing about this is right,'_ says the internal voice everyone calls a conscience but I like to call my own personal little devil. The angel that's supposed to accompany it went on vacation when I was ten and I haven't heard from it since. The little devil likes to take my voice and say the meanest things to me. While others can do no wrong, I can do no right. I'm my own worst critic after all. 

Still, I had to admit it was usually right despite its bad attitude and today was no different. Bijun, though sometimes lazy, never lacked in her duties and hated the cold almost as much as I did. And the apartment definitely didn't have any exposed concrete or plaster. Everything was covered in either dark heavy oak hardwood flooring, tiles, or decorative brick. Whatever my very numb hand had brushed up against could have been brick though.  

Putting effort to move my hand again, pins started to prick at the skin and the locked-up joints. Pushing away the weird sensation, I force my fingers to press firmly into the ground. By now the rest of my senses finally decided to come out of hibernation and a sigh released itself from where it was held captive in my throat without my knowledge. 

As if that was the cue, a searing light attacked my eyes, painting everything in red, black spots swimming in the crimson when I try to squeeze the light from my pupils. My fingers finally decipher the rough, uneven, random pattern of unpolished concrete. Nope not brick, not right, I'm not home-whereamIWHAT'SGOINGON! 

Breathing becomes a labor and this time when I want to curl up my body lets me. I rip my hands off the floor ( _the floor what am I doing on the floor?! tHIS ISN'T--_ ) and slap them to the sides of my head, shielding my ears from a sound that isn't there (am I deaf now? Oh G-d--).  

I don't want to know what's going on. I just want to be home, in my 10k thread count sheets with a book or my laptop or a cup of coffee. Tears warm a trail down my chilled cheeks, probably red from the cold (Mrs. Stane always said I looked like a baby angel, cheeks fat and rosy and she'd pinch them and--) 

 _You want that back? You've got to get out of here first and that's not gonna happen if you're just sitting here crying._  

Why the hell not?? I've - I don't even know what's happened to me. Kidnapped? Sounds about right. Shut it! I've been kidnapped! I get to cry! I have that right! 

 _Sure you do. Is it helping you get out of here any faster?_  

The lazy logic of that internal voice just made me feel pathetic, acid eating at my heart until there'd be nothing but a hole left.  

 _Dramatic much?_  

I said **SHUT IT**! 

My teeth clicked and ached at the thought and through the muffling of my hands, I could hear a warbled, raspy version of my thought weakly echo through the concrete room.  

Oh...I had said that out loud. 

My heavy shallow breathing was my only company for a bit before it started to even out. I counted my breaths.  

Release 1, 2, 3, ... inhale 4, 5, 6, ... hold 7, 8 ... release-- 

Breathing easier, though still shaky, I pull my hands slowly from my overly warm ears and drag them across my face, skipping over my eyes and nose bridge where my glasses sit. Briefly massaging my throbbing temples, swiping across my cheeks to clear off the evidence of panic, down my clammy hands went until they were at my neck pressing into the knots there. Rolling my head to face the bright ceiling, without opening my eyes, my hands easily found one of the arms of my glasses. Or where they should have been. I look up in panic, chest tightening again, threatening. All I see is the flare of a single light directly above me. I can't define the shape of the fixture. It's just a blob of brightness in this blurred beyond comprehension grey hellscape I find myself in (is that where I am? Hell? I guess I deserve it for what I did. Mrs. Stane I'm so sorry I--).  

Despite the blurred and muted colors, I can see enough to know. Know with a certainty that only the gods and the insane share.  

I've been kidnapped. 

I didn't want to know. 

~:Φ:~

I let my head roll any which way gravity wishes, too tired to really care. My warden won't care so why should I? It falls back to the side I had woken up on.  

A new blur assaults my poor eyesight and I squint to squeeze a little bit of detail into the image. It's a black blob and it looks to be within arm's reach. The stabbing fear of knowing prickled at the skin of my neck, my ears thumping and ringing with it. I don't want to know. What if... Good G-d so many what if's. It might be something morbid like - like a head or something, I don't know, I don't **want** to know... 

 _'or it's your chance out of here...'_  

That would be the dumbest hope to ever have in this situation. A guy kidnaps a rich kid, takes their glasses for good reason and leaves them with nothing but a mystery bag- and I'm only assuming it's a bag due to its even more floppy look compared to every other blob of color in the room - and their own worst enemy, their own mind. 

Like any kidnapper in their right mind would hand their payday a way to escape. Ha. Nope.  

 _'and the chance its A) a girl and B) a kidnapper who's not in their right mind?'_  

The literal letters LOL pop up in my mind at the thought. Yep. Equal-opportunity kidnappings. I'm an equal-opportunity gal alright. Already tagging the thought #FEMINISM.  

But... a kidnapper who's nutty in the head? The leap my heart took from my chest to my throat has me gritting my teeth against throwing up, my mental laughter gone. That's more terrifying than finding a severed head in that bag.  

(They'd never find me. They won't even find my body. Maybe pieces if I'm lucky--) 

It was hopeless. Either that bag had useful supplies to help me escape, in which case my captor was some psycho who wanted to murder me instead of suckering me out of my inheritance, or it had something terrifying to ensure my compliance in anything they say. Or maybe even a mix of both, like a bomb or something. Ensures compliance because if not well, I'm not of much use to them otherwise. **Kablowy**! All that'll be left of me is what they'd care to scrape off the walls.  

Panic quickly starts pricking at my eyes, welling with tears again as I stare at the black blob of doom. G-d this had to be the worst black box experiment ever created. I'm sure some of my psych major friends would just love to have witnessed this. (No. no witnesses. You're a wreak. No one can see this. Please don't let this be recorded--) I breathe, trying to fight the waves upon waves of panic and helplessness that shudders through my core. 

(This can't be it. it can't _itcan't_ itcan'titcan--) and for once my little devil and my core are in sync. I want to live. I want to see my father again. Find my mother.  

I **want** life.  

I **choose** life. Even if it means getting blown up. Or brutally murdered. Or uncovering a severed human body part. (Of the three I'd pick the head). 

A _slightly_ hysterical laugh bubbles out of me and some tears wet the sides of my naked eyes. I press the heels of my palms to the wet sockets hard enough that I _finally_ block out the bright-bright light above and see stars. 

Don't think about it, Danny. 

Don't think about it. 

My laugh sounds like I'm blowing bubbles in the bathtub, wet and quivering, unstable. 

Don't think about it. 

Releasing my poor abused eyes from their cage, I look back at the fuzzy blob that's caused me so much grief already.  

Don't think about it. 

... 

Okay. 

I reach out my hand for the bag.  

My fingers cramp when they graze the side of the blob. It makes a harsh synthetic sound across my nails. Polyester then? Granted its supposed to be standard rich kid education to easily identify high-quality fabric from the quote on quote "fake stuff", but well, I didn't grow up rich, sue me... Actually, don't, my inheritance is in enough trouble as it is.

I really don't want to get up but the room, despite the light being on, wasn't getting any warmer and--

Pitch black sweeps across my vision, a quick wave before its gone. I must've blinked there's no other reason--!

The light's dimmer now.

It doesn't hurt my eyes as much, but-- I snap my head up to stare at the light, now a dimmer yellow color than the harsh blue of before. I don't care about the black butterflies that flutter about my vision after I look away or the dark ants that march in clean lines around the edges of my limited sight. They're gonna shut the lights off on me!

This time panic forces me to my feet instead of to my knees. The air feels too thin and I can barely see as I rip the bag open, forgoing the zipper.

'that might be the trigger--'

Don't think about it.

I rummage blindly (if its bomb, it's not like I could disarm it anyway - would probably save myself a couple more panic attacks, they were exhausting.) until I touch something cold as ice, smooth and not melting under my minimal body heat. I freeze, shivers the only thing making me move. Metal. (Oh G-d, it is a bomb isn't. I was joking, oh my--)

I say a mental prayer, force my lips to at least try to mumble some of the words (Dios me cuida y me acompañe --), before I grab the metal with stiff fingers and, as gently as I can, extract it from the black "bomb" bag. I pull it up high above the bag and when I bring it a bit closer to my face, I almost drop the thing. It's a monstrosity!

It's my glasses!

Huge and thick-lensed like the bottoms of glass bottles, rimmed in gold, Calvin Klein's initials proudly engraved on the navy blue arms, my glasses. They shine like the day I had first brought them. They shine innocently, unknowing or uncaring of the precarious way I was holding them, one of the arms held between my fore and middle fingers, high in the air.

They shine innocently, unknowing or uncaring of the horrifying situation they had just confirmed I was stuck in.

I know I must look like a ghost and in the warped reflection of my glasses, my doppelganger is openly gawping, lips parting and pressing together like she's a fish. I shut my mouth with a clenched jaw and put my glasses on, ignoring the tears that threaten mutiny.

Gruesome death it is then.


	2. Hacked

So. I guess I have two choices now. Funny enough it's the fundamental choice I make easily every day. Do I just lay down for my fate? Wait for my, now confirmed, unhinged kidnapper to kill me in unspeakable ways (or if they don't show up, die of starvation, who knows at this point).

Or I can make a run for it. Play their demented game for long enough to escape. If they're giving me tools to escape then they probably want that. Depending on how off their rocker my captor is, they could possibly want a hunt... The possibilities just keep getting more and gruesome the more I think about it.

I guess it boils down to if the possibility of death or the possibility of life with a fate worse than death is preferable. And how much of a coward I am.

But that's a question for a philosopher or my therapist, not a sophomore business econ major!

Ugh. I'm going in circles and getting nowhere fast.

_'You're wasting time. At least look in the bag. You can make a decision then.'_

With my glasses on, I can see that the once black blob was a black tote bag, the kind you'd buy at a supermarket to save on plastic bags. The zipper on the bag was open and the whole bag flopped over in my lap. There didn't seem to be much else in it. I grasp one of the straps with a still shaking hand and stick my other hand into the abyss.

 

~:Φ:~

 

There are two more things in the bag O' horrors.

There's a phone and a pair of scissors. If the glasses didn't confirm it then this definitely did. My kidnapper was batshit crazy.

I dig through the bag, looking for, hoping that there's something else in the bag. Three things. That can't be it! I'm not MacGyver! A headache is pulsing lowly at the edges of my consciousness, waiting to ambush me. I flip the bag inside out and check the seams, cutting them open with the scissors only to find literally nothing else. The pressure keeps rising in my skull.

I seize the phone with an unhealthy amount of hope only for it to be crushed when there's no signal and maybe an hour's worth of battery left. The room is cold so probably even less by now. I scroll through everything the phone has and find nothing that can help me. No signal, no Wi-Fi. Useless.

I stretch my sore arms high above my head and revel in the pop of frozen joints before levering myself up off the floor, feeling vertigo rush through my head. My legs are stiff and I kick them out as I pace the perimeter of the small grey room, searching for an inkling of a signal to smuggle a message out.

The room is even uglier to my restored sight. The walls look like they were once white but had held too many prisoners and their panic and sadness had seeped into the paint, staining it. Mostly the room just looked disused. The ceiling had large swaths of chipped off paint and the walls pealed in curls. I notice a large watermark in the corner for the third time.

"Gah!" This wasn't working! I've checked every part of the room and there wasn't so much as a blip! I might as well be trapped in a damn Faraday cage!

A bubble of hopeless rage rises too quickly for me to quell, choking me. I wind up my arm to pitch the miserable thing into the miserable wall. I should have known better than to get my hopes up. My kidnapper is not crazy, just cruel and – wait, what was that? A spike of pain runs past my shoulders as I stop my throw midway. I hold the position and stare at the small black mirror in my fist. I could have sworn – there! A little spark of light. A glare from the corner, high near the ceiling. A dot of red blinks at the phone.

A camera.

I can't help but smile for it.

 

~:Φ:~

 

A camera is just the kind of miracle I need. In theory, I could use the camera's signal to send out a message. Bad news: doing that was insanely complicated and hinging on the camera being connected to the internet in some way. Good news: most things these days were connected to the internet one way or another.

Some more good news: I do dabble in software enough to hopefully be able to send a message if I got access.

Some more bad news: I'm really not great with electronics. So getting into the system is going to be a problem.

Summary: In theory, it's got a shot of working. In practice, it's probably gonna be my only shot at getting out of here.

Glancing back down at the phone I was about to smash, I consider the Blackberry's keyboard. That'll do, I guess.

I quickly survey the ugly little room, trying to find any evidence of wiring. I can't see any, even while pacing another lap, staring so hard at the seams between the walls on the floor my eyes start to water. Lifting my head feels like breaching the surface of the ocean for air. A rush of vertigo ambushes me from behind, tackling me into the dirty wall, leaving me breathless. My heart is beating loudly against my skull. The pressure from before bursting into stars that float about my vision. I rest my weight on the wall, forehead pressing into the cold plaster, and try to breathe, try to think.

Inhale, hold, release...

I gulp down air because I'm drowning.

Think. Think. Why can't I think? It hurts...

Why does my head feel like I just ran head-first into a door?

The floor is as freezing and hard as when I woke up...

Was this from crying too much? Stress?

Headaches aren't uncommon for me but this? This is something else...

This is a sledgehammer making its home in my brain.

Fever?

I was passed out on the floor for who knows how long and the room hasn't gotten any warmer since I woke up. But something about that is off. I'm not convinced...

Whatever knocked me out?

That sounds closer...what knocked me out?

Blood pounds behind my eyes, an aching pulse so I let them close.

_'...wires...'_

How was I kidnapped anyway?

_'...find the wires...'_

I remember being in court...Bijun was there...I had skipped Stats...

_'No, you have to find the wires!'_

But my little demon is so quiet and I'm too far down the rabbit hole to hear her.

**New York hasn't changed since I left her for Boston.**

It was still bitterly cold outside the Manhattan district courthouse and there was still a Starbucks on every corner to seek refuge from the snow flurries.

I hugged my steaming cup of coffee a little closer and took a deep breath of icy, smoke-filled air from my little nook behind a massive column. The nook next door sheltered a huddle of lawyers on a smoke break. My lawyers. Or more accurately, my family's lawyers.

(Because I owned nothing and everything now--)

Inside that courthouse, I had just become an orphan for the second time in my life. Once the judge had issued his sentence and proclaimed the case closed, I followed the lawyers I paid so much for to this little niche in the building's shadow (Silver and gleaming Justice stands, casting the longest of shadows for demons to play--). The ends of their cigarettes glowed like little headlights in the gloom. I set up shop in the next column over and listened to their conversation.

"An open and shut case," one said with an edge of regret.

"Yeah, not much we could do with this one."

That wasn't what they told me when I consulted them. When I placed a couple K in advance, they had replied with confidence and enthusiasm ("Open and shut case," they said. "The prosecution has nothing!" apparently they had everything, an airtight case that not even the best lawyers money can buy could crack. They weren't going to get a cent from me and if they complained, I'll take them to court myself. (The idea of another day in court made the air feel even colder than it already was. My heart, frozen solid by the verdict, had no hope of ever reviving.)

("A damn shame," someone said but it was just noise to my ears. Nothing more than car horns and the soothing sounds of traffic. I didn't hear anything about an appeal or a plea bargain. It was over. I didn't want to hear it.)

The almost burning warmth of a hand on my shoulder cut through my thoughts and sent my heart racing - who...?

I spun around, tense and ready to run. And saw Bijun, her dark eyes creased with worry. I relaxed and clutched at my chest, grabbing a handful of scarf. I thought one of the lawyers caught me eavesdropping. Amusement flickered across her face and I felt an answering spark of annoyance. Bijun always seemed to know what I was thinking. Six years with a person shouldn't grant them selective telepathy. Especially when Bijun, at times, was something of a mystery to me.

Ignoring my smirking (guardian? Nursemaid? Friend? We always had the sort of kinship that was hard to label. Mostly we both felt like charity cases--) butler, I peaked around the column to see if the lawyers had left. Smoking cigarette buds on the ground were the only evidence left of their meeting.

When I turned back, something had shifted. Bijun's smirk had shrunk to a polite smile and any looseness in her posture was ringed out. She looked calm, regal, her eyes warm but stern. It was time to go.

The car was at the front of the building and was swamped by cameras and reporters waiting, hoping to get the scope. I could see the headlines now: **"Orphaned heiress leaves court devastated!"**

Nothing I said would change that for the better. Taking a deep breath, I pushed everything I felt at the moment down into a nameless box and buried it like a casket. With it drained any emotion from my face, sucked out by the vacuum I had created in my heart. I tipped my chin up, squared my shoulders and stepped carefully down the marble stairs in my black heeled boots.

Immediately, all cameras swerved to face me, a sea of little red lights and large black, sightless eyes. Reporters ran up the steps to meet me and intercepted my path halfway down. Swarmed by the press, all I could hear was buzzing, and I could barely see the next step under me. I could look down. I should look down, deny the photographers a glimpse of my face and block any questions with a piece of paper. But I had started with my head held high and I would make it to the car without bending under the weight of a free press.

For the sake of what's left of my family's dignity, I refused to be painted as the shamed victim to be pitied (shame began kicking at the coffin's lid, begging to be released--). Let my stoicism be my shield against the press and my answer to their questions. To pay back the infinite kindness shown to me, I will do this.

(Almost there, keep walking Danny.)

For them.

My bodyguards cleared a straight path down, cutting through the sea like Moses.

(No no. Head up. One foot. Next foot. Pace steady, footing sure. Chin _up_ \--)

I owed them everything after all.

I gracefully slid into the back of the black limousine, my shaking hands clasped in my lap and for a second I'm but a statue. Blank eyes staring forward, skin turned to marble, I hold perfectly still until I hear the car door slam shut behind me, tinted windows hiding me from the gossiping public. The marble cracked as I took a breath, held it. Bijun walked around the front, slid into the driver's seat and seconds after clicking her seatbelt into place, she gunned the engine and expertly pulled into traffic. I watched the courthouse columns zip by in the large window across from me and it wasn't until we passed the light did I release.

The coffin where I buried my thoughts alive, burst open with a horrible reckoning. Marble chipped and fell away in slabs until all that was left was my shivering, scrapped raw soul.

My hands shook and I mourned.

~:Φ:~

Once my tears dried enough that I could see clearly again, I took out my phone and scrolled through some old text without really reading it.

I could really use a friend right about now but Bijun was driving and all my friends were still up in Boston, probably still in class. I checked the time. 5:20pm. Maybe I could call Michael? He should be out of class by now. If he's not out on a date with— **BOOOM!**

An explosion rattled my bones and I was weightless. The world swirled and I couldn't understand what was going on. Gravity regained control and slammed me down into something unforgivably metal and broken. A scream pierced the air, loud and bloodcurdling. A heat lanced up my side and the thump of a pulse was almost loud enough to drown the horrible cries. Black butterflies fluttered about the grey world, getting closer and closer together, swarming my vision. I blink and it's slow, the scrap of lashes against my cheek a vivid sensation. Wetness pooled in my collar and ran down the side of my face. Half of me was numb and growing cold. The butterflies kept getting closer and growing bigger. The pinpricks of light seeping through seemed like stars.

" _Danny!_ "

The screams had stopped, it was just a gurgle of drowned heaving and raspy breaths.

"Danny, come on stay with me. Danny, _Danny!_ "

A hallow pit was all that was left. Cold. It was so cold.

"You're strong. You've gotta be strong for me. Come on Danny. Stay wi--"

It whispered its name to me. Cold was its breath, wind whipping, and cutting--

"We're losing her!"  " _No!_ "

Guilty is thy name. Regret is mine. Whispers, the whispers condemned.

Guilty, I pled guilty and fell.

 

~:Φ:~

 

I wake up gasping and cursing. The pounding in my head hasn't lessened but it hasn't gotten any worst so I'll take what I can get at this point.

I carefully lean back and rest my head against the wall. What the hell?

Did I ... die?

'Well, that's easy and dumb. No, because then you wouldn't feel like garbage right now.'

Well then. Taken from the hospital then. Despite the vivid memory I unhappily just re-experienced, confusion muddies my thoughts. What happened? An explosion? It sounded like one. Oh G-d, was Bijun okay? Was she even alive?!

'If she is, then she's worried and you need to get back to her. If she's not, then there's nothing you could do for her now.'

The truth of the thought stung and I take a second to send a prayer, hoping that Bijun was safe. Then I grab the phone, and bracing myself against the wall, slowly stand up, careful of any dizzy spells.

I stalk up to the camera and glare into its beady eye before reaching up on my tiptoes and disconnecting it from behind. Cords dangling and the red light extinguishing, satisfaction welds up at the sight as I turn to find the scissors.

I have to get back. For Bijun.

Even if it's only to find a grave.

To pay back her infinite kindness, I'll get out of here.

That was a promise.

 

~:Φ:~

 

Connecting the camera wires to the phone was even harder than I expected. The backing of the phone was on the floor somewhere, exposing all the circuitry and batteries that made the thing tick. I didn't understand half of it so it was mostly trial and error. If the phone's clock was to be trusted, then it took me at least the better part of an hour, fiddling until I finally got the network to accept the phone, connecting me to it (all the while, the lights kept flickering and I had to grit my teeth against the spikes of panic). After that, well...

It was a little too easy to jailbreak the phone but it was an android, they were made with customizing in mind. Exploiting the code, I'm able to use the phone as a terminal, typing out a messy but effective virus that should keep whoever is on the other side of that camera busy while I hijack their computer.

The camera is, thankfully, connected to the closed system of the building. I don't have to try and guess their passwords, I'm already in. I send out the virus and close the terminal.

A clone of the computer's home screen pops up on the small display and I open a browser (internet explorer - eww).

Logging onto Twitter I quickly type out a message:

**I've been kidnapped. This is a dead man's switch. If I don't respond to this in 48hrs, I'm probably lost or dead. Contact police.**

I snap a picture of my surroundings and post it with a copy of the hijacked computer's IP address.

Quickly logging out, I open up all the files on the PC and skim through them. There don't seem to be any other cameras in the building which is a shame. If one were facing out, I could have possibly figured out where the hell I'm being kept. The hijacked IP address puts me still in the city but Manhattan is a big place with lots of places to hide.

I sift through the monitoring program and easily loop the footage, extracting the already recorded video and emailing it to my own server before deleting their copy, hoping that my kidnapper didn't save it elsewhere. I don't have enough time to check. I close out the program, fixing any broken code and covering my tracks. My server should hold up against any attacks if anyone managed to trace it but it was a temporary situation at best. I really just don't want to be blackmailed after I get out of here.

I disconnect the phone from the stripped wiring, connecting all the cables back to the camera before cutting them all and placing the phone as a go-between. Reconnecting the phone to the compromised system is a bit easier this time, the trouble is connecting the phone and the camera to each other. It takes another fifteen minutes of fumbling before I get a visual from the camera in the wall. I open Facebook from a friend's account and start a live stream. As much as I'd rather no one ever sees this, if I were to die, I want my kidnapper/murderer to see the end of a noose - metaphorically of course. This would probably be my only chance to ID them and gather any evidence. Stored on the internet, it'll be untouchable to them. They can delete a video on a phone or a server, not one on the internet.

Still, I set the stream to private. The less the general public knows about this, the better. It's bad enough they know I've been kidnapped but they don't need the details. I restrict viewership to my best friends, Michael and Kayla (whose account I'm using). Hopefully, they won't use this against me in the future.

I hesitate to tap the start button. There's always a chance they will...

No, they wouldn't...right?

I've only known them for a year after all...

'You told them about the group home...if you can't trust them then who can you?'

That miserable place filled with my nightmares, right. I trusted them with that, I can trust them with this. (But there's a difference between being told something and being shown--no don't--)

"Don't think about it," I whisper, my breath coming in puffs that cloud up in the, increasingly cold, air in front of my face.

I tap "Go Live", stuff the phone behind the camera, and let myself drop to the floor where I curl up in the next corner over (If they suspect--well they have to suspect by now--). Pressing the heels of my palms to my burning eyes, they rub grit, tears and a thin sheen of sweat away. I push my glasses up into my hair and lean my throbbing head against the cold walls for any kind of relief. Eyes heavy with the strain of keeping them open, I barely notice the lights flickering again.

Their last gasps apparently, as the room goes dark moments later.

The blinking red light flashes in the dark, going steady for a second before it too is extinguished.

They cut the power.

So much for that plan.

With nothing to do in the dark, I resign myself to my fate and take what I suspect to be my last nap before I too am extinguished.


	3. Rescued

Warm.

It's warm. Something plush that I bury my face in. The blanket is a little itchy against my neck. I must've fallen asleep on the couch again. I reach out from under my cover toward the floor, feeling for my fallen glasses with sluggish passes, before giving up and letting my arm dangle off the side. I sink back into the soft pillows and idly toy with the fragments of my dream. Such a weird dream, really disturbing too. I'm surprised I didn't wake up screaming at some points.

The scent of coffee pulls me towards consciousness, surfacing with a long stretch and a yawn before flopping back onto the couch.

"Welcome back to the world of the living Ms. Stane."

Any lingering sleepiness is burned away by the scorching wave of panic that seizes my throat and throws me off the couch. That wasn't Bijun. I really take in my surroundings for the first time and see a burgundy couch that is definitely not mine with a knit wool blanket falling off of it and curling around my legs. I kick off the blankets and nearly step on my glasses in my haste to get to my feet. I quickly slip my glasses on my face, leaving finger smudges at the edges and stare up at the mystery woman.

Carrying a tray with two mugs of (wonderful, delicious smelling) coffee is probably the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. Tall and elegant in a sweeping black gown so dark, it seemed to suck the light and color out of the rest of her. Pale as the moon, her skin contrasted starkly with her coal black eyes and unnaturally purple locks, pulled back in a complicated hair-do. She almost looked like a vampire, graceful and silent, ethereal and untouchable. The mystery woman placed the tray on a low glass table and sat down in the love seat across from the couch with all the majesty of sitting on a throne.

She turns her attention to me and my gaze skids away to the room we're in. Small but homey and warm, it's nothing like the grey cell without a door I was trapped in before (It wasn't a dream, I was really kidnapped and I'm still not home--). A small fire crackles in the fireplace next to the couch and a desk took up the opposite wall. A study then.

"I hope you'll forgive me," soft and melodic the voice almost lulled my panic enough to stop me from jumping. I spin around and almost lose my balance, crashing into the couch. I grip the arm of the sofa and will my legs not to be jelly.

"Careful. I did what I could but you're not fully healed yet." And the melody in her voice is oddly the same. No difference in inflection at all. It put me on edge.

"I'm fine." My voice is nowhere near the woman's smooth tone. The words felt like boulders to my dry throat. I cough a bit before asking,

"You healed me?"

"Yes," such a simple answer shouldn't sound so perfect. The woman took a sip from her mug and I glance warily at the other still on the tray.

"Why would you need my forgiveness?"

"For putting you through all that unpleasantness --" and whatever she said after that is lost in the static that quickly fills my head.

A punch to the stomach would have been preferable to that.

I was wrong. I was so wrong. My kidnapper is beautiful, posh, cruel and completely batshit.

I stumble back, blindly, just anywhere that is away from this - this thing. My back hits the edge of the desk with bruising force and I quickly scramble over it, putting as much distance as possible between the thing watching me from behind the rim of a mug with hawk-like eyes. The room feels too small, not big enough for the two of us and I desperately scan the table for anything I can use as a weapon. I grab a letter opener and hold it in front of me with both hands, my back to the literal wall.

This seems to spark the first emotion I've seen from the women. A dark violet brow arches and her head tilts to the side a bit in what I can only assume is an odd fascination. The woman's eyes seem to see right through me and recognize the whimpering coward within me to be no threat.

"What do you want?" My voice this time, is very different. Angry and unwavering, I almost don't recognize it. A second dark brow rises to meet the other one and she seems to reevaluate me. I don't know if this is a good thing or not.

"Sit down Daniela," the woman says instead of answering. Still soft and wonderful to listen to, there's an undercurrent of a command.

Like hell, I will. I might not be a threat to her but I can still very much be a threat to myself. I turn the tip of the letter opener to press at my jugular, my pulse heavy a quick under it. I can feel it vibrate through the metal.

"What. Do you want?" And there's a dangerous edge to the simmering rage implicit in the threat that I don't feel. Indignity, yes. The simmering anger is nothing but a bluff that I hope she doesn't notice. (Please just take the bait, just--)

All traces of pleasantness are wiped away. Her eyes narrow and I feel my pulse pick up. She is what danger really looks like.

I blink and I'm sitting on the couch, disarmed of my letter opener and my only leverage, a cup of still hot coffee in my hands instead. The woman looks like she hadn't moved and maybe she hadn't. The pleasantries are back as she asks if I want any sugar but the sharp tang of danger still lingers in the air and renders me mute. I nod, hoping that she'd leave to go get some since there's none on the tray. Instead, she reaches toward nothing on the tray and saucer of sugar cubes appears in her hand like it was there all along. I don't touch it and don't say anything when she adds one too many cubes to the coffee.

I have no idea what just happened and that was becoming an unnervingly common experience.

"You asked for my forgiveness," the words are out of my mouth before I even realize they were thoughts. The woman in front of me looks similarly surprised before nodding her assent.

"Then why put me through it all in the first place?"

"I wanted to make sure I had really found you."

"Found me? Was I lost? How does locking me up prove anything?" Attempting at humor before my indignity caught up to me again.

"Yes," She answers seriously, looking a little sad and no, Danny. Just no. I'm not going to start feeling bad for my kidnapper. She can solve her own issues without dragging me into it.

"My sister hid you very well from me." Okay, now that's a bit weird. "I had to be sure. I knew you were very clever and talented with modern devices. I seemed to be a fitting test."

Ignoring the fitting test part for now (since this lady was obviously nuts and I've gotta pick my battles), I address the sister. "I'm sorry, lady, but I don't know your sister."

"She's your mother--" What the –? "and I've been looking for her for the past two hundred years." Okay, no. Pump the breaks. I could buy this crazy woman being my aunt because I never met any of the Stane's extended family. But two hundred years?! That was wondering straight into crazy town. I'm done, humoring this pyscho.

"You seem to know a lot about me. You and half of America should know by now the exact place my mother is and will be staying for the next fifteen years." But the woman was shaking her head, "No, not your adoptive mother. Your birth mother."

My...birth mother? "She walked out on us when I was seven. I haven't heard from her since. I can't help you, there."

"Then, maybe we can help each other." That doesn't sound ominous at all.

"I gave up on my mother. She left us, why would I want her back?" That... wasn't entirely true. I remember my father, crying at the kitchen table, turning to me and saying, "I guess it's just the two of us now, Muffin." I didn't understand then (I don't know if I do now -- why did she leave? Whywhywhywhy--). "Where's mommy?" I must've asked that question a thousand times until I was screaming but I got no answer. My father picked me up in a bear hug and held me as I screamed and beat my little fist against his chest and he shook. I didn't understand then, but he was silently weeping, mourning the unexpected end of something he cherished.

He was never the same after that...

I've been looking for the women since that day and almost a decade later, I still haven't found her. That doesn't mean I'm desperate enough to make a deal with the devil to find her.  
Said devil seemed to consider this, black eyes keen and bright. She nods slightly, to herself or me I don't know.

"Then, if you don't want your mother back, what do you want?"

"I--," but the words quickly die in my throat. This is dangerous, I can feel it in my bones (they shiver at every world the woman says, the otherworldly melody in her voice resonating at an unknown frequency – like glass breaking to an opera singer's voice. It ate away at something, compromising the structure holding me up--). I take a gulp from the mug, for once not complaining when the hot coffee scalds my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Anything to keep my mouth shut...

The last thing I want is to make an accidental deal with the devil (because that's what I've resigned myself to be true. What else could the thing sitting in front of me be? What that means for the being's claims to being related...well, insanity is one option but for once I'm not going to venture into that rabbit hole--).

The woman (being? Diablo?) suddenly leaned forward and I flinch away violently, spilling half the cup on my thigh and the other half on the floor when she reached out. The ceramic shattered in a crescendo of sound, the loudest in the room; shards nipping at my bare feet. I scrabble to get my feet up off the ground, on the couch, both to get away from the sharp bits on the floor and from the hand grasping at my face. I climb up to the back of the couch, settling on the temporary perch and watching the hand that missed my cheek by a millisecond. The hand that flits forward so fast that it's just a blur. So fast that I could only twitch.

So fast that I'm caught.

Maybe I telegraphed my hesitance too much.

A smile blooms across the woman's face, triumphant and so beautiful I melt – forgetting that this woman practically tortured me. Something so lovely and safe couldn't hurt a fly, after all. I nestle my cheek into the hollow of her hand, loving for some unfathomable reason the cool sweep of her thumb under my eyes. Something softens in the deep dark eyes; the sharpness dies slowly and they seem to physically lighten, color sleepily swirling in like inks in water.

_'Danny...'_

Blues and purples, bright lapis and deep indigo, lilac swimming to the top. I could wax poetry about those shards of perfection...

_'You sound ridiculous. You're not even like this with Michael.'_

Michael...with caramel colored hair and eyes so full of joy and love. Just the thought of his bright smile sears my chest, rebranding my heart with his name. The blackened husk of it is heavy, a steady pressure. Beautiful, wonderful, wicked smart Michael with a girlfriend.

Loving Michael who's with beautiful, brilliant, vibrant Kayla, who's my best friend. Kayla who has eyes like the indigo ink ones that stare at me with unconditional understanding. How could something so perfect ever understand something so imperfect like myself?

A hook seems to spear my heart and drags my gaze away from perfection to stare at the broken bits on the floor. They look more like me after all. Torn between my own morals and two people who use my heart like an abandoned tree on a hilltop. A tree to carve their names into and claim as theirs. M+K scratched into the surface to scar. Yet they'll only love me like they would that tree: a thing to be fond of, to think of once in a while and whisper secrets to. No one could love a tree.

Not Michael or Kayla or the Stanes who gave me everything I have (and look how well I've repaid them - I'll never see them again--). They'll all be fond and pitying. The lonely tree, the lost pup. My tragedy seems to mark me, a scar invisible to me but oh so garishly clear to everyone else in the world. Even Bijun, my fellow charity case, sneaks pitying looks into every smile...

A second hand cups my other cheek and forces my eyes back to misty lilac and a smile that is serene and loving, like an angel come to take pity on humanity. I blink and find my eyes wet.

"You remember everything yet all you want is to forget." It was as much a statement as it was a lyric. There's an uptick at the corners of her eyes like there was an irony I couldn't possibly understand.

I nod because I can remember everything that's ever happened to me and it's a blessing turned curse and and--

And I still wouldn't sell my soul for that.

Quickly shaking my head, I rear back as everything slams back into focus, blinking and flinching when cold thumbs wipe under my eyes. I glare at the woman whose eyes are now black again, smile remote instead of forgiving. It might have been a dream but I know it's not. Because she was right about one thing: I remember everything.

"You tricked me," I rasp, the words like knives to my parched throat and betrayed heart, the organ working double time. I bite my tongue after that in an effort to cage in any more thoughts. The hands become sharp like claws then, digging into my jaw and gripping my chin. I force any words to the back of my throat to be slain without remorse and let the acidic bile that rises from their decaying corpses comfort me. She would get nothing from me.

Except that she does. "Tell me!" Is the hoarse command, all light chiming long gone – replaced by the rhythm of harsh machinery, a monotone and sharp drone that shakes something loose and awakens the dead words soaked in the blood from my bitten tongue.

"Yes! I wanna forget! Forget the ache in my heart and the things I've done. I don't want this. To remember – remember that G-d-forsaken house! I want none of it! It's never done me anything but hurt me! I don't want to hurt..." The words are torn from me, scrapping my voice raw and there's a dull pang of horror at my admission but it all of a sudden hurts too much to really feel anything. The smile that crawls across the woman's (El Diablo – he was once an angel--) fucking perfect face is nothing short of conquering and I am the defeated Constantinople, broken from within its walls before they're torn down to be claimed as Istanbul (will she give me a new name too?).

She coos, leaning ever closer to place a kiss on my forehead, "Your wish is my command, Muffin."

I flinch, a full body recoil, at the endearment. No one called me that. No one. Except for my father. And that – that murdered some bright corner of my memory, a knife ripping through it and washing everything in red. Whatever expression I'm wearing seemed to please the woman as she smiles again, an empty glee dripping from her expression like tears and whispers,

"Rejoice, my dear. You will be reunited with your father in my kingdom shortly."

My breath seizes and I'm well and truly sobbing now. I'm hopeless and helpless, I should have run – there was nowhere to run - I should have cut a hole - I should have – should've – should've said I loved them, to so many people: Mr. and Mrs. Stane, Bijun, Michael, Kayla - G-d I'm never going to see them again--

The woman sits down on the couch next to me, uncaring of the coffee stain. Pulling me down from my perch to settle by her side, she lightly pats at my hair; a mockery of comfort that only makes me shake in useless anger. I try to blink away the tears but the world is but a swirl of color, blurred and crystal clear in odd intervals. I try to breathe, try to claw my way to calm but hysteria has taken grip and a small black hole has opened up in my gut, leaving me without an anchor as the weighted metal zips past me – the first to be eaten by the insatiable maw. It runs rampant through my mind, leaving but fragments to be consumed later. Desserts.  
(In the distance a blaring noise buzzes in my ears.)

I grip my head in horror when I can't – can't remember where I am. I squeeze my eyes shut against an unfamiliar room and hug a pillow, muffling sobs and surrender myself to the invisible star, who's gravity grabs at me with steel fingers that will leave bruises.

There's a rush (of sadness, pain, bright happiness and a pit of sorrow, longing and beautiful love, untarnished and ageless) before there's a drop and a pull and I'm dragged back into a dark maw, a curve of black so dark it's simply empty. The maw shuts in front of me, surrounding me.

Pulling...  
Dragging...  
Down to...

  
**Oblivion.**


	4. Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny arrives at a camp full of cultist. It's the sanest assumption at least.

The silence is something blissful. The nothingness is a blanket of comfort, my pillow, my bed, my nothing what-so-ever.

 

 

I float there for forever. I've been there for all of time and I know nothing different.

Then there's a burst of something and the nothing around me is revealed to be the nothing it's always been. The something sucks out all the calm and silence and comfort and the void becomes cold and hostile. The silence brings about a buzzing, a vibration I don't understand. I reach for the something and it invades me with curiosity and pain, bright and warm and singing. The void tugs tugs _tugs_ , but it is mute and starving. I itch for something and the Something jumps at the chance, swallowing me whole.

 

~:Φ:~

 

Through a crack in the darkness (and now it's darkness, it has a name - names are names - because it's not light), I see lines of stitching in dark fabric and blurry silhouettes. The fabric under my cheek moves and breathes and lives. Words filter through but they make little sense. It hurts to try.

_Sleep my little knight, there's much work to be done._

I dream.

 

~:Φ:~

 

My nose itches. I scratch at it and shift with the movement, snuggling deeper into the bedding and stretch out. Someone shakes me and I groan into the pillow, mumbling something before dropping off again.

 

~:Φ:~

 

I dream of kingdoms long forgotten and stories long dead. They sing with warmth and beauty and welcome me into their homes. I wear shining armor and a sword that gleams. The streets are lined with torches and oil lamps, empty of flames. In the heart of it all, burns a pyre simmering in and out of existence. The Queen tells me that this is but a dream and I believe her, how can something so beautiful exist outside the mind? It can. She tells me, with my help it can. The world shakes and crumbles and the Queen's eyes are a sad, luminous lilac. _Return to me soon my knight, we have much to build together._ I will, I promise. I will.

 

~:Φ:~

 

When I wake up, there's a girl leaning over me with a red solo cup in hand and deeply green, worried eyes.

"You cry in your sleep."

I rub my eyes and my palms come back wet. So I do. I look around and despite the calm settled in me, I recognize nothing. Calm is brittle to the blunt force of fear. I scream.

 

~:Φ:~

 

"Percy, why don't you show our guest to the bathrooms. I'm sure she'd want to freshen up. It's been a long journey for her." The girl with midnight hair and worried green eyes nods obediently and gently shepherds me upstairs to a bathroom sparsely furnished but normal.

 

"I'll be back with some clothes." I nod vaguely and the girl, Percy, leaves. My head still feels way too light, like it's filled with helium ready to either pop or float away. Everything is all so blurry. I don't remember if I ever needed glasses but I might now. I move toward the mirror above the sink and stub my toe. Biting back a curse I decide, yeah, I need glasses - asap. I squint at the fuzzy image in the mirror and lean forward till my face is almost against the glass. An almost colorless iris stares back from where it swims laps around a black pupil and dodges reddened blood vessels.

"What are you doing?" I jump back and twirl to see Percy with a pile of clothes in her hands. I brush back some loose strands of hair and try for a smile. "I was, um, trying to see." The girl doesn't say anything for a bit before, "Trying to see what?"

"Trying to see at all. Everything's blurry." At that Percy's eyes spark with something. She dumps the clothes on the lid of the toilet and runs out. I stare after her and wonder what I said wrong.

With a sigh, I turn to the clothes and riffle through them. There's a pair of jeans that look a bit too big, a pair of sweats that'll probably fit no matter what, a plain white tee-shirt, a pair of clean socks, and a pullover hoodie. What I don't see is underwear, which all considering is probably a good thing since - for hygiene's sake - I'm not desperate enough to use someone else's. However, that means I'm stuck with the same bra I'm wearing now. I hold back a second sigh. I'll ask Percy later if there's a store somewhere - or even better if she can take me home since I don't think I have any money.

I turn to the shower, turning the faucet on and check the temperature. The water rushes out freezing cold. Turning the handle to the right doesn't change that but turning it to the left does, slowly warming the water. I set it to the hottest setting and let it run. Balancing on one foot, I tug at my sock. When I have the sweaty thing in hand, I balance on my other foot. 

**Knock knock**

"Occupied!" 

"It's Percy."

I pull off my second sock, drop it, and crack open the door, peaking out, "What?"

The girl looks hyper, bouncing on the balls of her feet and barely smothering a grin. She digs into her sweater pocket and pulls out something that reflects back a wink of light in the dim hallway. I open the door a bit wider. Leaning against the door frame, I watch Percy's outstretched hand open like a spring bloom and there in the heart of it sits a pair of glasses. The lenses are thick, bending light and distorting the lines of Percy's palm, rimmed in gold and attached to navy blue plastic arms that cross behind it.

They look expensive and not at all familiar, yet an odd joy and relief crashes over me like a wave, violent and all-consuming. I must be smiling because my cheeks start to hurt. Percy smiles back at me, for the first time, and it's a wonderful smile, light and giddy like a child's. I don't know what I did to deserve it though and it puzzles me. 

Before I could make the mistake of asking, the girl grabs my wrist, opens my hand and places the glasses in it, glass first. My fingers twitch at that, as does the corner of my left eye and I try not to add any more smudges to the lens. I carefully extract my hand from hers and smile my thank you, my voice too stunned and still reeling. 

Percy...seems to get the message but doesn't move from the door, simply nods but keeps looking at me, almost expectant. I don't know what else she wants from me so a bow my head, flash another smile to her and back away from the opening stiffly. Her too green eyes track the movement but she still doesn't move. I nod back to her, my smile wavering, before swiftly shutting the door. I glance at the knob in my hand and notice a key in the door under it. I turn it and a lock clicks shut. I plop down on the tiled floor, cross my legs under me, and stare at the door. What was that about?  

Finding myself stuck in a dead end trying to figure it out, I push away the thought and focus on the metal frames in my hand. The hand that I hadn't noticed was settled close to my chest, above my heart and cradled like something precious. I open my palm and examine the frames. They're heavy, all in metal unlike what I had originally thought. On one of the arms is a tiny 'CK' engraved in gold. Calvin Klein, yeah these are expensive. The edges of the glass are polished and the whole frame seems to glitter in the harsh bathroom light. 

I raise the glasses up to the light and see they're covered in fingerprints and grease. I bundle up some toilet paper and start wiping at the lenses, the action almost an automatic response. Maybe I did have glasses after all. I smirk at the thought, the odd comparison to my nonexistent past to my very confusing present seeming both clever and a little sad. Trying to figure out my past is like trying to understand a whole new person. I literally don't know who I was then, they're a foreign entity. I should probably get used to the idea, amnesia isn't cured in a day after all.

I raise the glasses back up to the light and see that the lenses aren't a mess of smudges anymore but not sparkling clean either. I shrug, it'll do. I slip them on, the weight of them noticeable and familiar, and stand up. Turning to the mirror, the sight that greets me is breathtaking. The rush of _this is right, this is me_ punches the air right out of my lungs. A shiver of certainty is beautifully welcome but the tremors in my hands are not. I grip the edges of the sink and stare at the girl in the mirror. I still don't know her name. 

The air feels a little too warm and thick. I take a breath, hold it in my chest, and examine the face I wear. The girl in the mirror looks intent and scared, eyes, once colorless now lightly tinted amber, are sharp and flick around far too fast. Hazel eyes, interesting. A dark brow raises at me, equally dark hair falling into her face when I shake my head at her. Not as unruly as Percy's but still obviously uncombed and stringy with oil. I brush it back with my hands and the girl grimaces, yeah a wash is definitely in order. The glasses glint wildly on the bridge of a tall straight nose, casting shadows on pale, almost grey, rounded cheeks. I tip my head to the side and the girl bares her long neck, a dark dot - a beauty mark the only thing of note. Tracing the slope of her neck up to the sharp curve of her square jaw, a small hoop of gold dangling from her ear, errant locks of hair curling about the soft curve of it. I follow her hairline up to her temple and -

That's not supposed to be there.

There, in the dip of my left eye, running across the eyebrow, was a scar, still a little pink but well healed. I turn my face towards it and the shadows play across the girl's features, curling lovingly in a line down her cheek before dissipating. I touch my cheek and feel a dip carved straight down, invisible in all but one angle. Another scar? I glance back at my left brow, the line barren of hair and it's like being hit with lightning. A flash of burning, white-hot and crackling with _wrongness_ , runs down my spine with flashes making my muscles jump and contract. 

For the first time, I'm terrified. I don't know how it got there and everything is telling me it wasn't there last time, wasn't part of my past, but it's there and it's permanent.

My stomach threatens to mutiny. 

I let it. 

...

Stripping out of my thin cotton t-shirt and black slacks, I fold up the pants, toss the shirt on top of it, pull my hair into a high bun and step into the scorching hot shower. For once I stop thinking.

 

~:Φ:~

 

When I open the bathroom door, I feel clean, new, and scrubbed raw - because I am. I glance back at the mirror once I shove my glasses on my nose. There's still a light pink tinge on my checks, from the scrub or the heat I don't know - don't much care. My eyes wander back to the scar across my brow and I shiver, suddenly cold in the steam-filled room, tugging my borrowed sweatshirt closer. I force my eyes to the towel around my head, undoing the knot and letting my dark hair drop in wet curls to my shoulders, dripping water on a sweater that isn't mine. I look around for a blow dryer. I don't find one. Shit. It takes my hair forever to air dry and when it does, I usually look like a poodle it's so puffy. 

I bite my lip (full and scarred and chapped from the cold) as I try to part my tangled mess of hair perfectly down the middle. I get close enough and start twisting one half back towards the nape of my neck. Tying it off, I do the same to the other side, knotting the two twist braids together into a tight low bun. 

I step back and check the results. Good. Hopefully, this will stop it from frizzing up.

I pick up my clothes and march through the open door, trying to pick up missing pieces of myself along the way.

 

~:Φ:~

 

Percy's waiting at the bottom of the stairs when I get there. She smiles at me but it's less gleeful than the previous one. It gives me hope that she has more emotions than just happy and worried. All the while, it raises my walls ten miles high as a crushing sort of inadequacy descends on my heart. Of course, I didn't deserve her acceptance. She doesn't know me, why should she? 

_'You don't know her either. Be a bit wary, would you?'_ And the little voice isn't wrong either, maybe I'll heed it. 

I smile back. 

Percy motions at the bundle of clothes in my arms and I hold it out to her. She grabs it and my forearm and I try not to flinch at her third time manhandling me, this time into a sitting room. It's filled with trinkets and random stuff on the walls. Percy drops my clothes onto an armchair that we pass by and plops onto a couch by the fireplace, dragging me to sit next to her. The leopard head on the wall seems to eye me. 

The girl turns to face me more fully and again, there's an expectant look in her eyes even when her smile warms a bit. 

I shift, uncomfortable but I thankfully don't have to say anything before the older man from earlier rolls into the room in his wheelchair. Around his mid-fifties, the man looks physically fit, with an all-around fairly laid back disposition. Earlier he still had curlers in his grey-streaked hair. Now he's dressed almost like a professor would. Tweed blazer with patches and all. He is obviously the man in charge though as Percy immediately focuses her attention on him. "Morning Chiron," she greets cheerily. 

"Good Morning to you too, Percy," the man, Chiron, rumbles warmly. He turns his gaze on me and it holds a physical weight to it, years coalesced into a fine point, but...not unbearable, still warm and welcoming with polite distance. His eyes are sad too but I don't think that has anything to do with me. 

"And to you as well Ms...," he drops off, waiting for my name to fill it. A name I don't have. 

Danny. It's a wisp of sound, something barely carried over the wind but I hear it and  

"Danny," the word - _the name_ is out of my mouth before I even think to question it. I savor the taste of it on my tongue and it's - incomplete. Missing something (not enough vinegar, needs more honey), the name tastes bitter.

Danny, it is then. 

Chiron inclines his head, a strangely archaic gesture that suits him and smoothly moves on. 

"Danny, I understand that this is probably all a little overwhelming, " - understatement but please continue, "but if you could tell us what you remember before coming here, it would be much appreciated." 

I nibble at my lip. That's the exact question I was hoping to avoid. 

"Um, I woke up with Percy leaning over me, took a shower and came here?" My uncertainty spilling into my answer. I glance over at Percy and catch her looking at me intently, lips twitching at my answer. I turn back to Chiron and notice the glance he also shot Percy. 

"Anything, before that?" He asks kindly with a saintly amount of patience.

I shake my head, no. The man looks a bit worried now and leans forward, elbows on his blanketed knees. "Anything about your...kidnapping?" And his tone is one of utmost care, like talking to a frightened animal, like I'm cracked glass, ready to shatter. 

He's right about the last one. 

A distant horror rushes up to the present, a flash flood of phantom emotions I don't remember feeling. I push my glasses up and cover my face in one motion, trying not to hyperventilate. 

"Kidnapped?" The question, spoken watery and broken in two parts, stills the room for a beat before, "It okay, my dear. It was a traumatic experience, the mind must protect itself. This is but one of its defenses. The memories will come to you." I drop my hands from my face, my glasses falling back into place and look at him. A reassuring smile and understanding eyes greet me. 

"What if I don't want to remember?" Because if it was bad enough for me to forget it, should I even try? Am I better off not knowing? Does that apply to the rest of my memories? Was my life just one huge trauma? Was it worth remembering? 

A ghost of some other emotion flits across his eyes but is gone before I can identify it. 

"Then, you don't have to," he states smoothly. Percy shifts next to me but I keep my eyes on Chiron, hoping for another glimpse of whatever emotion that was. He keeps my eye contact, placing his chin on his interlaced knuckles.

"Where are you from?" The question comes from Percy and we both turn to her. Her cheeks go a little red under her impossible tan and she continues, "I mean, you know, what's home for you? 

I try to smile but feel like I failed when I say, "I don't know." The girl's brows furrow, not really understanding and I was a bit vague. "I don't remember," I try. I'm starting to hate how repetitive I'm starting to sound.  

After a pause, Chiron rumbles, "Danny." I turn to the man. His brows are also my furrowed and his eyes a bit narrowed. I frisson of fear prickles at the back of my neck, sweat breaking.  

"What do you remember?"

I look at Percy and she smiles encouragingly. 

I sigh and make myself plain, "I don't remember anything."

Percy freezes next to me, smile icing over like frost would a flower. Then everything about her changes and she turns fully to the man sitting across from us. 

"You don't think-?"

The man shakes his head before she even finishes talking.

 

~:Φ:~

 

The blond girl opens her mouth to argue, "But Chiron, the Council..."

"The Council" this and "The gods" that. What's up with these people. I've gone years successfully out of the spotlight and now suddenly everyone wanted something from me.

Wait...spotlight?

"I - I need some air," my voice is so weak, I wonder if they even heard me. Either way, I head for the door.

Everything looks ridiculously vibrant for it to be mid-February. There's a light breeze but for the most part, it doesn't feel like its anywhere under 40 degrees. The thick hoodie the blonde girl gave me holds up against the chill, leaving just my nose and cheeks to freeze. I tug at the grey cuffs for a bit as I try to follow where the thought came from. Spotlight...

Why would I be in the spotlight at all? And avoiding it? That... doesn't sound right. Sure I don't want anything to do with these crazy people but even now with no clue about anything, I could feel the low burn of ambition gnawing away.

Ha. No clue about anything. That, however, sadly sounds like a familiar thought.

Urh! This is so frustrating! Pressing my hands onto the wooden banister that wraps around the porch, I drop all my weight forward and let my head hang. It's like someone just decided to scoop up all my memories and flung them into a black hole to maybe (hopefully, blessedly--) return a scattered mess at some random time in the future. What was even the point of that? What did everyone want from me?

I pulled my head up and stared at the stupidly vibrant grey sky (like how is that even possible?) like it would give me the answers I want.

Well, there are gods up there apparently...

Pff, yeah. Right. And I'm supposed to be one of their kids. Is that what they wanted from me? To join their little cult?

A buzzing sound shoves me out of my thoughts. What now? The sound is followed by a small vibration from my back pocket. Reaching back I pull out a phone that I'm sure wasn't there before. Thin and sleek, the blackberry looks new but oddly familiar. I run my thumb over the little keys and the screen lights up.

**1 UNSEEN MESSAGE**

Curious (too curious...always too curious something whispers--) I open the message.

**Find Mnemosyne and you'll get your memory back.**  

Anxiety bubbles in my lungs, starting to slowly choke me. That sounds like a threat or a command. Who sent this?

I frantically scroll through the contacts, the smartphone almost slipping through my frozen fingers in my haste.

**Blocked Number**

Well, that's useful. I switch back to the messaging app and quickly type back:

**Who are you?**

**Nobody.** Is their response. I don't buy it.

You know who I am. It's a statement. They know too much about my predicament already not to know. I want to know what they know about me.

(In the back of my mind, something screams that this is a very bad idea. That they probably know I've lost everything because they were the one to take it. She's too far away for me to care. The possibility of answers is a siren's call, drowning out everything else.)

**Who am I?** I text back. I wait on the porch and look out at the desolate camp. Maybe it's just too early. The sun has only just finished rising over the hill in the distance and now sat high enough to cast shorter shadows but at a low enough angle that it still glared at my face.

The hilltop was a curious thing of its own. On it stood a solitary tree, tall and evergreen in the winter, dusted with white flakes. My arrival here is still a bit of blur but I could have sworn I saw a snake-like creature wrapped around its base and a blanket on its lowest branch. But that was in the low light of dawn. Now there's a glint of something shiny coming from the tree. It's probably just the melting snow but I'm bored (and tired of trying to put together pieces of myself I don't have--).

I check the phone (guess it's mine, it looks familiar enough. I'm grateful. Something to call my own when not even the sweater--) and there's no response. Disheartened, I slip the phone back in my pocket and adjust my cuffs. They don't stay put. I can't help but grimace as I take in the state I've left the blonde girl's (I really don't remember her name. Anna something--) sweater. The cuffs are loose, the elastic worn out by my fiddling. Shame burned through me like I'm dry tinder, fate inevitable. The feeling pushes my shoulders inward and makes me feel small. Biting my lip, I carefully tug the loose cuffs over my stiff hands and stick them into the big kangaroo pocket of the sweater. The walls stare, judging me silently. I flee to the hill.

There's really nothing I can do for the sweater but the guilt of destroying what isn't mine to destroy is heavy.

 

~:Φ:~

 

Under the huge pine tree that honestly should have been picked up as the Rockefeller Christmas tree by now, lies a huge serpent. That, now that I've got a closer look at it, had wings. A dragon. Wow, um okay (were these cultists also genius geneticist? The hell?).

A dragon that's very unhappy I'm here. As soon as I get anywhere near the tree, it shoots awake, growling at me. I stop in my tracks, paralyzed. I really don't want to be mauled by an imaginary creature within my first day of freedom.

I slowly put one foot behind the other, half a step back. The dragon doesn't move, lamp-like eyes glued to my every move. I repeat the move with my other foot, shifting back even more. The dragon stops growling at least, getting the message.

I release the breath that was trapped in my chest and finally step fully back.

Only to have gravity tug roughly, my shifting center forcing me to the ground with an audible, "Ufm." The sky is still too grey to be so bright.

Scrambling (for my pride--) to sit up, I lean on my elbows and see a puff of smoke from the dragon, a strange glint in its eyes.

Is it laughing at me?

It turns away from me before I could ask, curling back around the base of the tree to comfortably take a nap.

Now there's an idea.

Letting my elbows drop from under me, I lay flat on the pillow of – surprisingly not wet – grass. Pushing my glasses up into my hair, I pull the hood more firmly around my face and decide to follow the dragon's lead. They're supposed to be wise after all, right?

 

~:Φ:~

 

A palace sits on a hilltop, over looking smaller manors and abodes all with white marble and intricate frescos, other precious metals and jewels scattered about. It's unreal in its beauty and I don't understand how it can exist. 

A blur sweeps up the road and for a second I swear it's a man. Before I can even squint, the blur rushes me and the world falls away for a terrifying second. 

Bare feet back on firm ground, the marble a cold and unpleasant change from the soft grass of earlier, I take a breath and search for the streak - man - whatever that was. Only to be met with the expectant gazes of Giants. I can only assume that's what they are since they tower over me like a light post would, yet the room seats them comfortably. 

"Daniela Roena Stane, we have need of you."

 

~:Φ:~

 

I startle awake, breath thin and lungs still drowning. I pull my knees to my chest and cradle my head between them. Inhale...hold...exhale...

Apparently taking a nap was the worst possible thing I could have done.

That - that was just a dream... right?

A hand lands on my shoulder. Shock seizes me so violently that I turn fast enough to make the world tilt. The hand on my shoulder tightens and grounds me. I look up into green, green, ocean green eyes and my already compromised breathing stutters. I try for a smile.

The concern in that objectively beautiful face only grows heavier. "Are you okay?" The girl asks. And no, no I'm not but no one ever wants to hear that so I try again to smile and bottle up the frayed nerves that threaten to embarrass me. Here in this camp, I have only my pride to the name I only half remember.

I fear smiling is making me look crazy. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine," waving away the concern. My voice sounds thin to my own ears, unconvincing. I try for something with more bite.

The helpless laugh that escapes wasn't part of the plan.

"I've only been kidnapped, brain-wiped, and taken to some cultish camp in the middle of nowhere. Yeah, I'm fine, this is fine...," trailing off lamely.

The concern in those mesmerizing eyes shifts to something too close to pity to stand. I tear away from her, resting my chin on my bent knees and stare at the still sleeping dragon. I don't need any more pity. I get enough from myself.

I take a deep, searching breath and hold it in my chest. Warmth seeps from the girl's hand (Percy, her name is Percy--) dripping like honey, soothing the vice forever around my lungs. Steal wraps about my spine and I'm (miserably, desperately--) ready for answers.

"Why am I here?" The quiet question is the first thing I can think to ask her. My savior. The girl rescued me from my kidnapper (not that I remember much of that--) and I don't think I could be more grateful. But the question still stands. Why are they now holding me captive?

"Because you're one of us." Her voice is full of conviction and I want to believe her, oh I really do. Because if she's telling the truth then it would give me some definition. I am...nothing right now. But if she's right, I'd be a demigod, the child of a god with a history and a family and (maybe, looking at my rescuer, maybe) friends. A life.

I'd be something.

But I don't believe her because I was still paying attention when they had dragged me to "The Big House". They needed me for something. This wasn't altruism.

The sigh that escapes leaves me hollow.

"Say you're right. I'm a demigod. Now what?"

Percy looks vaguely uncomfortable.

"We train you to protect yourself...," she finally settles on saying. It's flimsy, without the surety of before and has holes of the unspoken.

She knows as well as I do. My situation isn't nearly as simple as that. She at least has the sense to look guilty.

I decide to state the obvious.

"Look. We both know you want something from me in return. You saving me wasn't altruism. All I want to know now is what you want with me?"

Percy stares at me, and it's clear that I offended her in some way but I'm too tired to deal with the twinge of shame the stare invokes. I wince but say nothing.

Finally, she seems to get over it with a sigh and speaks.

"The Gods are fading and, so far, you're the only lead we've got to stop this."

Oh boy...

It's official. I've been rescued by a mania driven cult and they're going to hold me, prisoner, here.

Something must show on my face because she quickly continues.

"Look, I didn't believe it either at first and I didn't want to be a half-blood - no one really does - but it's something you're born into and I don't think you can walk away from this. Trust me, I've tried. I totally understand what you're going through, but the truth of the matter is that we need you, the world needs you. Will you help us?" Her eyes are imploring and heavy with a guilt and self-loathing I don't understand; I'm wary of it.

"I - you--," I grit my teeth. There are a million responses I want to say: You're lying; I can't help you; You're crazy; You can't really believe that! For a second, I think about if what she's saying is true - that she's really some superhuman, the ancient gods are real and dying(?), and they need my help to stop it. It sounds ridiculous just thinking about it and my mind wants to reject it - not even consider it (because what?) but something snags anyway. It couldn't possibly - and if - there's always another way, someone else. I'm nothing. What possible good could a powerless scared little girl do for a group of supposed half-gods? Why should I do anything at all? Belief or not, this isn't my fight. I don't know these people. I owe them nothing (except for the girl next to me who's asking for my help - is this how I'll repay her? By turning my back?); I'm nothing - I have no place here. But guilt at my own thoughts starts gnawing at my stomach as I do the same to my lip.

A hand on my elbow brings me back to the present and I find myself staring at my fingers. They're playing with a gold chain I didn't know was around my neck. It's short, shorter than it should be for my height so when I tuck it back under my sweater, the small metal cross falls cold into the dip at the base of my throat. I can feel Percy's gaze still on me so I look up and tell her, "I'm sorry," and I try to say more, explain myself at least but anything I could say is stuck in my throat.

Percy's expression softens though before I can force any more words into the air. She looks expectedly stressed but strangely relieved. It only sets me more on edge.

She turns her attention back to the horizon without a word. The sun is still young in the sky, early in its low, lazy path across the sky. We sit there for a bit but I'm not looking at the sprawling wilderness below the hilltop. Instead, I study my mysterious rescuer. She sits relaxed, hands spread behind her - holding her up, legs crossed loosely, head leaned back towards the weak winter sun. It really shouldn't be this hard getting to know the girl, she presents an open book, but - I don't know. I don't know if it's just me or all in my head but everything about the girl right now presents as false, fake. Maybe it's the tension in her neck that could just be muscle mass, or it's her furrowed brows (against the sun?), or maybe it's the invasively neutral expression on her face. Most people when they think should look thoughtful, right? At least that was my understanding. But Percy just looks impassive, not fully here at all but not daydreaming either. The whole way she sits too screams practiced, tailored to fool. Fool who though? I don't know what to think about her - about anything here. The thing is, as disconcerting as it may be, like Percy everything seems nice enough (so why can't I trust it?).

Percy turns to me, mouth open to say something and looks faintly surprised to see me already looking at her.

"What?" she asks. My head tilts to the side of its own accord and I take a second too long to shake my head at her.

"Nothing," I say and we both pause for an awkward second, not believing each other and wary before Percy shakes her head, seeming to shake off some thoughts with it and pats my shoulder.

"We'll talk about this later. Let's get you settled in first."

With a quick press of weight, she levers herself off the ground, hand slipping off my shoulder and holding it out to help me up. I take it with as minimal hesitation as I could muster and am pulled up and...close. Too close. I hold my breath and hope that Percy doesn't notice, that she just turns around and leads the way back into this foreign camp. I don't think I can handle another fragile, awkward situation - not with any grace anyway. She's already forgiven a few of my tactless gestures; I don't want to know how many more she can forgive.

Percy does just that. Dropping my hand, she turns on her heels and starts downhill toward the "Big House". I release my breath and follow after her, dread sinking like coal in my gut. This can only end badly.


	5. Borrowing Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny still doesn't know where she is, who the guy hugging her is, and is so beyond stressed its not even funny. All she knows is that something is seriously wrong when playing a hand game with a maybe dead girl is the highlight of her day.

Once we're near The Big House, Percy swerves away, walking past it towards a large open space behind it. There stands a  volleyball net, a few basketball hoops farther down, and a line of cabins in the distance. I spot a few campers milling around, some heading towards a group of pillars nestled in the tree line, others shuffling to a short and stout building on the other side of the clearing. It seems to be a lazy morning for all of us. Percy starts pointing stuff out. The group of pillars is actually the Dining Pavilion, the short building holds the public bathrooms and showers though every cabin has some installed, and we're heading for the Hermes cabin.

"Every god and goddess has their own cabin for their children. These are the cabins for the minor gods." She points at the line of cabins we pass by before the row curves inward into a 'U' shape. A large campfire mound sits in the middle of the 'U'; the fire low and lazily curling and popping in unnatural light violet flames. The color sends alarm bells ringing in my head, a flicker of something like déjà vu that has me flinching. I clench my hands together in the pocket of my hoodie and quickly turn away.

"--changes by mood. These are the cabins of the major gods. There are more cabins for minor gods down that way," flicking her hand further down where the row straightens out again. Despite the fire bubbling away, its colder in this semicircle than before. As we pass by the cabins of the "Big Three" as Percy calls them, I glimpse a break in the tree line and see the sparkle of water. Huh, so there's a lake nearby. Wouldn't that make the earth kind of unstable? But maybe not, people build houses next to bodies of water all the time. Hmm...

"And here we are," Percy states with finality, arm sweeping up to present the cabin door like a gameshow hostess would for a prize car. The cabin looks like a regular cabin to my relief, all in wood, built with intersecting logs with a fading blue painted number 11 over the door. I look at the neighboring cabins and the relief shifts to something a little bitter. To the left, there's a mini-palace in colorless obsidian, torches with green fire on either side of the elaborate doorway. The number 13 chiseled into black marble, filled with gold and inlaid with priceless jewels. The cabin to the right is made of brick with a smokestack slowly puffing away soot. There are scorch marks circling the cabin's perimeter. By the door hang sheets of metal, gears and other junk scattered around. The number 9 shines in beaten bronze, nailed above the steel door. I take a quick glance back where we just came from and notice that every cabin had its own personality. I turn back to cabin 11's door a little more critical.

Percy's smile wavers a bit before she turns and knocks on the door for me. There's a thud and after a muffled shout of, "Hold on!" the door's opened by a sleepy looking teen, golden brown hair in disarray, barefoot and dressed in PJs. He still manages to smile when it can't be more than seven in the morning so I automatically envy him.

"Hey Michael, sorry if I woke you up. I'm looking for Connor. You and the twins have another movie night?" Percy's voice is a bit loud in the morning quiet but genuinely friendly.

The guy seems to agree since there's a twitch at the corner of his eye, almost a wince before he answers.

"Yeah, it's going to be a while till I get some more time off so we've got to make the most of it. Anyway, Connor is still asleep, I think. What'd you need him for?" The guy ('Michael, at least try to learn some names') speaks with an accent - Eastern European by my guess - but it's subtle, only showing up in the lilt of some words. He still hasn't looked in my direction. I try to be insulted but fail; I'd honestly rather sit this one out for a while. Besides, his inattention soothes my morning person envy.

"Oh, we've got a new camper, unclaimed," Percy pulls me into the conversation, grabbing my arm and pulling me forward, stumbling a bit from where I stood in the background.

"Michael, meet--"

"Danny," my name in his voice is but a wisp of sound. I look up to see his slack-jawed astonishment, his eyes wide and almost misting over. "Oh my god, Danny!" And before I can even think to say anything, the PJ clad stranger stumbles forward and engulfs me in a hug. I freeze and glance over to Percy, hoping for some explanation or reassurance - maybe he does this to everyone? - but she looks just as confused as I feel. Finally, the boy breaks off the hug, clapping my shoulders and beaming down at me.

I blurt the first thing I could think to say, "Do I know you?"

Michael's face quickly morphs, his smile becoming strained and his big brown doe eyes going large and disbelieving, hurt even. "Danny, what? Don't joke."

Percy finally decides to step in, "She doesn't remember anything. Mind-wiped like Jason and I were." And to that his whole countenance falls, except for his eyes which remain big and wide and terribly sad when turned on me.

"I'm so sorry. We're going to fix this though, so don't worry," and before I can get a word in he turns back to Percy. "Was it Hera?" "That's what we're trying to figure out."

And on they go, listing out ancient deities and making plans all over my head like I'm not there, all the while Michael, the loon, still hasn't let me go. If anything, he's tucked me into his side, an arm around my shoulders protectively, like he has any right to be my guardian (biblical name or not). I try to discreetly shimmy out of his hold. His grip only tightens. I glance at his face but he doesn't seem to have noticed, fully engrossed in the conversation as he is. A quick peek at Percy tells the same story, whatever curiosity she might have had for Michael's apparently strange behavior has been overruled by the puzzle that is my missing memory. I try again a little less discreetly and am met by the same invisibility.

Ok, this is ridiculous. Releasing my hands from their death grip on one another, I say loudly, "That's all well and good," I grab the wrist of the offending hand on my shoulder and -- It's Orientation, the auditorium is packed and I'm bored out of my mind. There's some classical music playing that would put me to sleep if I weren't so jittery today. Everyone says that these are the best four years of your life and I want to make them great. Today is the first day of that and, well, it has not exactly gone to plan. First was the hassle to find this place, then came the monster attack. I had thought that, since I had some time, I'd go get something to eat. I didn't know where the café was so I thought some street food would do. I had ordered a hot dog from a vendor and got a Hellhound instead. After a round of tag with the monstrous dog, I finally killed it, scattering gold dust everywhere. It stuck to my sweaty skin even after I tried brushing it off. As I stepped out of the alley, someone walked straight into me, dropping some books and a phone.

"Oh crap!" and I turned to see a girl crouching down to pick up her stuff one handed, the other busy not spilling her coffee. I quickly crouched down with her to help.

"Oh, jeez. You don't have to do that. So sorry for bumping into you."

"It is fine," I handed the books back to her in a stack and she took them, carefully arranging them in the crook of her arm.

"Err, do you need any help?"

"No, no, it's cool. Thanks!" and she beamed up at me, hazel eyes sparkling in the late summer morning light before she blinked. She looked at my hair and bluntly said, "I didn't know there was a Pride parade going on," before going red and pursing her lips, as if to trap any more words. I laughed and the girl blinked again before grinning, a hand rising to readjust heavy gold-rimmed glasses. Something beeped and the girl jumped at the sound. Quickly checking her phone, the girl cursed under her breath. She was already moving when she sent me another smile and a quick, "Thanks again," over her shoulder. Before I could say anything else, she had turned the corner and disappeared.

Bóg, I wish that girl were here. Everyone here is kind of snobbish and won't shut up about their vacation homes in Europe. The only other person I've met who's so down to earth is a girl named Kayla, an international student from Scotland. She's in a different Orientation group because of it. Maybe we should get lunch later...

As I think of what to eat for lunch and wondering when this thing's going to start, the lights dim. The chatter starts to diminish a bit with it as the attention moves to the stage. Just as an official makes their way down to the stage, the seat next to me fills with a flurry of motion.

"Sorry," whispers a feminine voice. I turn to look and through the dim, I notice the familiar glint of gold. No, it couldn't be ... could it?

"It is fine," I reply, deciding to put it out of my mind. The girl next me startled and whipped around to look at me. Bright eyes narrowed in the dark, before widening.

"You!" I can't help but laugh, "Yes, me. How did you know?"

The girl grins and it's lopsided, exposing some glinting sharp teeth. "You're the only one I've heard so far in this whole city that doesn't use contractions."

I rub the back of my neck and chuckle, trying not to feel a bit self-conscious about my accent. I've lived in the US for the past five years but it seems like I'm never going to lose my accent. I still can't decide if that is a good thing or not. I hold out my hand to the girl, knowing no foul was meant, "Michael Gorski."

Her smile turns shy as she reaches out to shake mine, "Danny... well, really Daniela but everyone calls me Danny."

Before I can respond, there's a series of shushes from behind us and we both huff, sharing a look of humor, before turning to the stage. There's a man at the podium now.

"--Morning. I'm Dr.Winchester, the Dean of Students and I'd like to welcome all of you to your first year at Harvard University." A thunderous applause runs around the assembly. "First I'd like--" "--but I don't know you." My voice hitches at the end and I shove the arm from my shoulders and stumble blindly away. The sky is grey, not blue. The air is cold and whips at the moisture near my eyes. I blink rapidly and it matches the beating of my heart, the thrum of it loud and deafening. I-I don't where I am. A crushing and devastatingly familiar sort of panic pulls the vice around my lungs tight. The air is thin and a hand touches my back. I whip around and back up further.

"DON'T touch me." The sound that rips from my throat is animalistic to my own ears, tapering off to a low yet soft warning. I feel like an animal, cornered and wounded. I blink and there's Percy, looking at me with real (truly real almost raw) concern. Her green eyes flicker from me and something else. I blink and there's Michael, much closer, too too close,  reaching out a hand and looking distraught and guilty and far too sad.

"What. The hell was that?" and my voice sounds almost normal if not for the breath that keeps escaping me and the wheeze that whistles through my gritted teeth.

"What was what, Danny?" and he has to be joking. I couldn't have been the only one. He has to be or else I'm going mad.

"Don't you play dumb with me!" I jab my finger at him, poking him harshly in the chest as I take a firm step forward. He steps back and I take a vindictive sort of pleasure from it.

"I don't know what you're talking about! Really!"

I feel my face twist into something ugly as a matching ugliness rises within me. "Really? So you didn't see anything? I'm...," I tapper off when I see the real confusion in his wide eyes. I drop my hand and step away, "I'm the only one." I turn away and slap a hand over my mouth to keep any screams in my head. What's happening to me?

Without a word or glance back, I run off. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know anything anymore. I just know that I'm going to throw up.

~:Φ:~

I don't actually have anything in my stomach to toss up so really I'm left with a stubborn case of nausea when I finally find a secluded spot by the pier. The shifting water below me makes me regret my choice of hide out and I turn away from it to stare at the steady wooden planks.

What is the world was that? The place, the time, the people, everything was different and the girl...

Was that girl me? I don't know enough to really say but it looked enough like me. Maybe a little too happy and bubbly, though. I do not feel like a person whose regularly happy. But really, what do I know?

I don't know anything. It all seems to come back to that now doesn't it? Maybe...?

Without much hope, I dig around my pockets for my phone and lie back as I unlock it. I mindlessly scroll through some of the apps and drop it with a sigh when there are no new messages and no contacts saved. Pillowing my head on my hand, I let my gaze wander the lake surface as I feel more than just nausea roll through me. I try to silence my thoughts and ride it out, taking in the stillness of the grey-blue water; the many evergreens that dot the forest; and the odd camper jogging out to the beach. There's movement that registers through the haze I've put myself in and I turn to look between the planks. There's a girl there, face blue and eyes closed. Everything still with barely a ripple in the water.

I jump to my feet as half forgotten nausea rolls through me with a vengeance. Is that...? I peek through the planks again, curious against my better nature. The pale blue face is still there, turned away, bobbing with the soft currents and despite the morbid scene I can't find the strength to look away. Static starts building in my head and a sort of numbness crashes over me. Everything slows down to a crawl and my body feels heavy, too heavy to move. I think to blink.

The face between the boards blinks back.

And that seems to set off a flurry of motion because suddenly the face is far too animated to be a corpse, warming with a happy smile that crinkles bright lively eyes. The drowned girl waves before sinking back under the grey waters.

Before I can even begin to the comprehend what in G-d's name just happened, I find myself on my knees leaning over the edge of the pier, searching the water for any sign of the girl. To do what? I haven't the slightest idea but possibly help? At least prove that I'm not going insane.

"Hi!"

I jump back, landing flat on my butt, and whip around to see the drowned girl again, head and bare shoulders out of the water, smiling brightly.

"Were you looking for me?" And even though everything about her looks pale and washed out, her voice is as cheery as ever. 

"Err, yeah."

She cocks her head to the side and waits, staring at me with big grey eyes. I don't know how to ask if she's dead. It seems like a rude thing to assume.

"Are you...okay?" I settle on.

She simply blinks and stares some more, smile going a bit vacant.

I quickly blurt out, "You seem a bit pale," hoping to salvage the situation. And you're blue, I don't add. If this anything like the movies, I really don't want to end up dragged to the bottom of the lake.

The girl brightens again, clapping her hands with delight. "Oh, that's so nice of you to ask! No one ever wonders about us, but yes, the winter months are a bit tough on us but we're fine."

"Us?"

"Yeah, my sisters usually gather here but the winter's harder to visit so they're tending to their own rivers and springs. It's little lonely to be honest." I believe her, she looks it.

She turns speculative before asking, "Do you wanna play with me?" Like a child would to another in a playground.

I really want to ask what in the world is she (a ghost?) but again, the lake is right there and I actually like breathing air, so instead I say, "Sure. Do you know numbers?" I'd rather not know what kind of fun she had in mind. Thankfully, the girl nods vigorously, rushing over to the edge of the pier like an eager puppy. I cross my legs and am mindful of the space between us as I settle in for a round of losing to a presumably dead teenage girl. 

~:Φ:~

It takes just five rounds, with me winning just once to avoid being accused of letting her win - which I was for the most part, before the girl loses interest. With a final wave and an invitation to play again ("because you need some practice girl!"), she disappears into her lake. Seeing the empty spot in front of me, an equal sense of emptiness suddenly hits me. I stare out around, at a lost as to what I'm supposed to do now.

Despite feeling a bit scared around the drowned girl, she had successfully distracted me from the madness that's become my existence. (Or maybe she just made the madness a little more manageable. After round two, the game had actually become rather fun. But that respite had ducked back underwater and I'm not quite brave enough to call her back.)

Analyzing my earlier out-of-body experience does not sound very appetizing. Just thinking about it makes my chest hurt (Will that happen every time I touch someone from now on? Or was it just stress? Jeez this is insane--).

Instead I turn to  catalog all the trees in the forest around me. I don't actually know any of the scientific names of any of them and I can't really tell the species apart so really, beyond knowing some are pine trees, I count the ratio of evergreens to bare branches. If the sample is perfectly random, each tree has a fifty percent chance of either having leaves or not. So assuming mother nature abides by a distribution that is approximately normal we could calculate a, "I see you've met the naiads." Violently shaken from my thoughts, I twist around and feel the world tilt with me. Stomach dropping to my shoes, I see my own reflection in the water, wide eyed and panicked before the fabric of my collar chokes me and in a whirl of color I'm staring at the grey sky. The planks are hard under my back, stable, but my mind seems caught in a loop, feeling my body tilt this way and that while I grip the unvarnished wood as an anchor.

Honey brown hair enters my vision, short and wavy, and is quickly joined by a familiarly androgynous face. Soft features and the strong jawline are brought into quick focus and I blink harshly as I readjust my glasses. What in the world is he doing here?

Michael sticks his hand out looking bit apologetic and a lot amused and is that fondness in his smile? I blink blankly at the hand hovering above my nose, thoughts still a scattered mess. I must take a too long because his smile wavers and caution tightens his jaw. I take the hand with no deliberation because I've just decided I don't like how it sharpens his face into something dangerous.

With a strong tug, I land on my feet a little closer to the boy than I'd like. I quickly drop his hand and he steps back, doe brown eyes a little sad. I decide I don't like the look of that either and flash him a smile, "Thanks."

It smooths over something in his face and I call it a victory (lord knows I need at least one right now). I hope he doesn't ask what I was thinking about like most people here do. Instead I ask, "What are you doing here?"

"Well, breakfast is about to start. I thought you might want to join?" He bites his lip and his doe eyes plead with me to say yes. I'm thinking to say no, just to have some choice in my movements but looking at his face I can't help but wonder about him. Why does he have such strange and strong reactions to me? I can only assume that he knew me from Before and that just makes me more curious. Who was the girl he knew? Am I that different from her? So I say, "Sure," to his obvious relief and start walking down the pier. After a second, he catches up with me but says nothing.

The silence between us is quickly growing uncomfortable. Despite wanting to raid his mind of everything he knows about me, I can't bring myself say a word more and possibly ruin things irrevocably. With my luck, I'd say something so out of character that he'd shut me out and then where will I be?         

"The naiad is right though." Michael doesn't seem to share my fears since he simply smirks when I blink dumbly at him. "You're horrible at numbers."

I stop in my tracks and raise my brows purposefully, "For how long where you there for?"

He turns his face away, running a nervous hand through his light hair. The action does little to hide the flush at the tips of his ears. He recovers quickly answering, "Long enough to see you get your butt kicked."

It's corny but I'm surprisingly more amused than anything else so I let the laugh that's been tickling my lips out into the fragile air between us and say, "That's okay. I'm better at chopsticks anyway."

It's not a battle to grin at him. (For once)

When he smiles back, I quickly retract my previous estimation because oh no. The small concession earlier is nothing compared to this. The warmth, the hope in his eyes - this is what victory really looks like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danny: Oh no he's ~~hot~~ sweet.
> 
> Sorry I'm late in posting it here but I hope you enjoyed this update! Thank you to every one who's commented and kudos(ed?) Comments are always appreciated and keep me going! 
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> Bóg: God (polish according to Google)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a much newer work so the writing style is a bit different from my other works. I'm actually not a huge fan of OCs but i wanted to try my hand at one. The entire process of writing a character from scratch was very interesting, to say the least. This is also my first attempt at writing a full story in both first person and present tense. Lots of firsts lol. Tell me what you think!  
> I hope you liked this and I'll see you guys next time ^.^


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